Lady of the Highway Page 4

  ‘A blessing,’ Ralph’s voice whispered inside my head, ‘or a curse.’

  5: A Grand Vision

  All Hallows Eve, and Abi was much better, sitting up in bed now, but thin as a lath. Jacob had not found time to visit, and nor had Abi’s sister Elizabeth, but Mrs Binch had come every day.

  ‘She’s perked up no end,’ Mrs Binch said. ‘It’s a world of difference since I came last.’

  ‘It was seeing Martha,’ I said. ‘Cutch brought her. But Abi wants her here – she can’t stay at the vicarage for ever, and Elizabeth – well, she’s not very motherly.’

  Mrs Binch gave a snort of disgust. ‘She’s not worth your breath, you mean. Fancy her not showing her face at all. I thought poor Abigail wasn’t going to make it, she’d lost the will to fight.’

  ‘Too much grief, in too short a time.’

  ‘You too, mistress, if you don’t mind me saying. There’s something… I don’t know, different about you.’

  I tossed my head, ignored it. If there was one thing I could not bear it was folk feeling sorry for me. I changed the subject. ‘Mrs Binch, is there any chance you could stay on? I can’t offer you much in the way of wages, but the house needs more managing, and I can’t do it alone. I need a live-in housekeeper.’

  ‘Are you offering it to me? A housekeeper’s position?’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust.’

  ‘But there’s no servants for me to manage! This house has had its day. They say in the village it will be taken over by one of Cromwell’s Roundheads, so it’s only a matter of time. Me, a housekeeper? What a cockeyed notion!’

  ‘It won’t always be like this. I’ve an idea to turn it around. Will you take time to think about it?’

  ‘No. What can you do? A young girl like you? Besides, I know my mind. And I like my own bed at night. I’m very flattered I’m sure, but there’s too many ghosts walk this place after dark.’ She shivered, looked over her shoulder. ‘I’ll take my own cottage, thanks all the same.’

  *

  That night I lit the turnip lantern and it stood in Abi’s chamber, its gap-toothed grin a warning to anything outside the walls. All Hallow’s Eve, when the veil between the worlds was at its thinnest. I was glad to know Cutch was out there in the stables.

  Abi was still recovering, and though she had been up and out of bed to wash, and to mend her patched apron, she was still too weak to do much. I sat in a chair in her room, where the fire was lit, and finished off her mending. My stitches were clumsy; I was unused to such work, and the light was bad.

  I told myself I was not afraid of witches, but I hung bay leaves in the window just the same.

  The wind had grown wilder and now it whistled through the trees at the edge of the fields; leaves blew past the windows. I heard a stable door bang, and it made me leap from my seat. Only the wind, I thought, or Cutch bedding down the horses.

  I was just nipping off the thread with my teeth when I heard hoof beats. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then came the unmistakeable clatter of iron shoes in the yard. I ran to the hall window and looked out to see three horses. Three cloaked men, their hats hanging down their backs, hair whipping round their heads with the wind. Cutch appeared in the yard to speak to them. I saw him shake his head as if he wanted them to leave, but moments later, there was a thudding at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ I called, searching frantically for a weapon, but there was nothing close by.

  ‘Constable Mallinson,’ came the reply.

  Jacob’s father. What could he want, riding out after dark on a night such as this?

  ‘A moment,’ I called. I tucked my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck, unpinned my apron, before smoothing down my taffeta skirts.

  When I opened the door the first face I saw was Downall. It was as if I’d been punched in the guts. I took an involuntary step back. Constable Mallinson took this as an invitation and the three men pushed their way into the hall. Jacob Mallinson followed just behind his father. They filled the space making me back away down to the parlour. Hastily, hands shaking, I lit a wall sconce, and a candelabra.

  Last time I saw Downall he had tried to storm the house with his frenzied Puritan mob, and Ralph had narrowly escaped a hanging. Downall’s jowly face filled me with hatred, a venom black as gall. I was grateful to see Cutch follow the men into the parlour. I nodded to him, to indicate he should stay.

  Mallinson pointed me to a chair but I did not sit. ‘Jacob says you were held up last week by thieves,’ Mallinson said. ‘We’re here to get a description.’

  ‘It’s too late for such business,’ I said. ‘Come again in the morning.’

  ‘We will not take much time, and we need your testimony,’ Jacob said. ‘The dead men were important men. It won’t wait.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you and your father, Jacob, but I refuse to talk to a man who only a few months ago broke down my front door.’ I restrained myself, but glared in Downall’s direction. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Was it only I who saw the carefully veiled threat in his eyes?

  ‘You’ve no choice,’ Mallinson said, ‘or you’ll be obstructing the course of justice.’

  ‘A night in the cell would not be pleasant,’ Downall said, glancing at me sidelong. He’d removed his hat, and his sandy hair was flattened to his head.

  ‘You can’t arrest her, she’s done nothing wrong,’ Cutch said. ‘She said, she’ll speak to the constable, not to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what business it is of yours, but I’m acting as assistant to Mr Mallinson,’ Downall said.

  ‘On the contrary,’ Cutch stuck out his chin, ‘I don’t know what business it is of yours.’

  ‘Downall’s presence here is quite legitimate,’ Mallinson said in a placatory tone.

  ‘For your information,’ Downall said, puffing out his chest, ‘Cromwell appointed me as one of his county representatives to ensure Puritan rule is followed to the letter. And that includes making sure felons are brought to justice.’

  Mallinson unrolled parchment onto the table and weighted it with four lead weights. ‘Please bear with us. We’re only following instructions from the Protectorate.’ He passed me a quill and uncorked the ink. ‘Now Mistress Fanshawe, write down what you remember,’ he said. His words had a calculated finality about them. For the first time I saw Mallinson the constable, instead of Mallinson, Jacob’s father.

  ‘If I do this, will he leave?’

  Mr Mallinson glanced at Downall, who inclined his head. So the constable’s still in that bastard’s pocket after all, I thought. So much for the laws of England.

  I wrote all I could remember. Part of me wanted to resist, but the other part of me remembered how the highwayman had hit Mrs Binch across the face. That man should pay the price. I could not give much of a description, because it had been dark and the whole event had a strange unreality about it. The shock, I suppose. And the blood-stopping sounds of those shots. I could only remember the hard expression in the short man’s eyes, the skirt pooling at my feet, the sudden draught as the tree crashed down.

  When I’d done, Downall snatched up the parchment and took it immediately under the sconce where he frowned over it for a good few minutes. He waved it dismissively. ‘Just like the old woman,’ he said. ‘She can’t help us.’

  ‘You talked to Mrs Binch?’ I asked.

  ‘Last night. She couldn’t give us a good description either,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Said it was too dark to see anything,’ Downall said. ‘Strange, that.’

  Something about his watchful demeanour made me even more alert.

  He pressed his hat back on his head. ‘Let’s away,’ he said. ‘We have what we need.’

  And in a flurry of cloaks and clanking of swords they were out of the house just as quickly as they had come.

  *

  When they’d gone I slumped into a chair. Their questions had drained me. I did not know what to do. Downall had Constable Mallinson under his thu
mb. With no men here to protect us, and no other servants, Abi and I were vulnerable, and I felt our frailty. But what to do? Even Mrs Binch refused to stay. Somehow, I would have to make my own community

  Ralph, what would you do? The thought was not quite a prayer. Almost immediately an answer came back, Barton and Whistler. The thought was clear as a spring, as if Ralph himself had spoken. The Diggers.

  A tingling sensation, and the room suddenly fell to absolute silence. I searched for his presence, but could feel only my own heartbeat in the cave-like darkness of the room.

  Suddenly the vision opened up before me. The house was big enough for all of us. All I had to do was share it. I couldn’t pay wages, but I could provide shelter and a roof over their heads, and land to till. And we’d be like a village unto ourselves; that way we could support each other and thrive. No more building wattle houses on the common land where they would be torn down, but each person could have their own place here.

  It was what I’d promised Ralph, without even realising it. That we would build the Diggers’ dream right here at Markyate Manor.

  I stood and walked to look out at the thin sliver of moon hovering over the misty lawn. The idea felt perfect. Ralph would have loved it. The fact that he would not be here to see it come to fruition brought tears to my eyes.

  Of course it would be a risk. My menfolk might return from exile, and Sir Simon Fanshawe would rather see me horsewhipped in hell, than see our land turned over to the Diggers.

  I paced and paced, weighing the decision. Now was not the best time, for winter was already reaching its chill frost over the land like a creeping beast. But I couldn’t sit here a moment longer and do nothing, with this empty useless shell of a house weighing on my shoulders, and the fields falling fallow for lack of care.

  I’d turn this house round, fill it with life and laughter. Build something lasting, in memory of Ralph.

  6: A Chill in the Heart

  The next day Abi tottered to breakfast holding Martha’s hand in hers. She propped a sack of meal on the chair for Martha to sit on so she could reach to eat her curds and bread. Abi’s face was still grey and her eyes red rimmed. She did not eat, and I wished she would; her wrists looked all bone.

  ‘Here,’ I said, pushing over the loaf and the butter crock.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, avoiding my eye, passing Martha a damp cloth to wipe her hands.

  I tapped her on the shoulder so she was forced to look up. ‘I know. The thought of food makes me ill too, but we must eat. Will you help me clean the top bedrooms? I’m going to see if the Diggers want to build their community here.’

  She shook her head. ‘Here? You mean in the house?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve too much space here. Why not share it?’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  Husband. Strange word for such a gangling youth. I had no feeling for him, could not imagine loving any other boy but Ralph. Ralph, with his strong muscled arms, his eyes blue as cornflowers. More alive than Thomas, even in death, even in my memory.

  ‘Thomas has gone,’ I said, ‘and I’ve had no word. So he won’t know. And in any case, he’s too frightened of Downall and the villagers, of what they’ll do to Royalists like him, to come back. I hope I never see him again.’

  ‘Oh Kate, you fool,’ she whispered. Her eyes had turned glassy. ‘Can you not choose an easier path?’

  ‘Don’t you see? It’s what Ralph would have wanted.’

  ‘But it’s begging for trouble. Why not lay low for a while, keep quiet? Bow to Cromwell’s ideas? It’s foolish to do anything to rouse folks’ temper. At the funeral, Jacob told me we’re best to keep ourselves to ourselves. If you do such a thing, it will only cause talk in the village.’

  ‘It’s my land, and it’s what I promised to Ralph.’

  ‘They said Ralfie won’t come back,’ Martha began to cry, as if she’d only just realised he’d gone.

  Abi turned to her, with that sixth sense she always seemed to have as far as Martha was concerned. ‘Hush, peachkins, let’s finish this bread. Eat it all up, then we’ll go and see if Cutch can make you a little loom, and you can try some weaving.’

  ‘I don’t want to … want to go home … want Mama.’ Martha began to bawl in earnest. Abi picked her up and held her, but she kicked and screamed to get down, and in the end it made Abi cough, and she had to let go.

  Abi slumped into a chair, head in her hands. ‘How can I tell her they’re gone, so she’ll understand?’ I shook my head. Death was too hard a conundrum, even for me.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Cutch appeared at the kitchen door just in time to scoop Martha up. ‘Jiggedy, jiggedy, my fine horse,’ he said jogging her up and down, and with a big swoop, he pretended to drop her.

  Half-terrified, half-elated, Martha was soon demanding, ‘Do it again!’

  Cutch galloped her outside piggyback and shouting for more. How quickly her temper changed, and how quickly her tears were forgotten. Would that it were like that for me.

  *

  Despite Abi’s misgivings, I sent word to Barton and Whistler to ask them to come up to the house. I was restless, filled with enthusiasm for my new idea. In the end, it was a good thing I sent Cutch because when he got back he told me they were reluctant, and he didn’t think they’d come.

  ‘But why? Surely they can see the sense of it – that they will have a share in all this?’ I gestured expansively at the lawns outside the window.

  ‘You’re too young. They don’t trust you.’

  ‘Then I’ll make them. Once they find they are housed in fine big rooms, and that they have all these acres to work, they’ll come round. I know they will.’

  Cutch made a grimace, and went back to the stables.

  His words made me nervous. Sure enough, when Barton and Whistler arrived they stood uncomfortably in the big parlour whilst I explained. I remembered them building their shanty houses on the common. There, they had looked purposeful and tough, like wild horses. In here, they seemed to shrink. They shuffled from foot to foot, not looking into my eyes.

  I asked them where they were living now, and Barton rubbed his beard and said he was living in shared rooms above the inn.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘What about Mother?’

  ‘Bring her,’ I said. ‘Bring them all. Whoever wants to come.’

  Barton and Whistler looked at each other as if they could not believe it.

  ‘Anyone with Ralph’s principles is welcome here.’ I drew back my shoulders, tried to hide my disappointment at their lack of enthusiasm. I had looked up to Whistler, thought to impress him.

  ‘It’s backwards,’ Whistler said. ‘The likes of us, in this grand house. And your husband will not like it.’

  ‘He’s not here,’ I said tartly.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s one thing building on common land, another moving into this… this place,’ Whistler said. ‘It wasn’t what Winstanley had in mind. He said we’d to live simply.’

  ‘It’s just brick and mortar. What use is it lying empty? And there’s enough room for us all. Do it for Ralph, if not for me. Winstanley hated waste, did he not? Well, my land is growing thick with weed and bramble, no crops have been sown for the spring. There is enough land here to support us all, and in hard times, we can help each other.’

  ‘But you’re just a girl—’ Barton said.

  ‘A girl with seventy acres.’

  They looked to one another again. ‘How many of us can you take?’ Barton asked.

  ‘As many as you like. Ask your wives. They’d surely see the sense in it.’

  Whistler shuffled, uncertain, and from the corner of my eye I caught Barton shaking his head.

  I shot him a purposeful look. ‘Do you not remember the song? Stand up now, Diggers all. If Ralph were here, he’d tell you, you’d be fools not to try it.’

  Barton raised his chin. ‘If Ralph were here, he’d have thought it a damn fool idea.’

  *

  B
ut they must have talked it over because a few days later the kitchen door never stopped opening and closing. Though I had told the Diggers they could come in through the front door, none of them could believe it, and they all, to a one, used the tradesman’s entrance. With them they brought their few possessions, the richest of which was a sack of bruised corn and an elderly cow, still in milk.

  Susan, Owen Whistler’s wife, was amazed when I showed her the bedroom she was to sleep in. Of course it was unfurnished, but her eyes were wide as trenchers, ‘By heaven, it’s as big as a house! And this just for me and Owen and the little ones?’

  ‘I’ve plenty of room. Do with it what you will. If you need wood for the fire, take some. We’ll arrange how to restock it later. It won’t be too hard to scour the forest if we work together.’

  ‘Thank you milady, it’s more than—’

  I held up my hand, pleased to feel a benefactor again. ‘No, don’t thank me. You will work for it. We all will. And it can be plain Kate. No titles here, remember.’

  I left her unrolling her straw palliasse and staring around.

  By supper time twenty-five people had moved into the house, and the refectory table in the dining hall was full for the first time in almost a year. There were not enough stools, so Cutch had made benches by standing planks on empty barrels. A fire roared in the hearth, and Susan, Margery and the other women had produced a pigeon stew. Spirits were high.

  ‘Let us say grace,’ said Whistler. To my pleasure, he gave thanks for my generosity and prayed for God’s guidance over the coming labours. We all said a fervent ‘Amen’.

  The only quiet people at the table were Abi and Cutch. Abi always struggled to follow conversations when many were talking, because she did not know who to lip-read. And she kept a wary eye on little Martha, who was pink-cheeked with excitement, having more children to keep her company. Soon she and little Jonty Barton were playing a game with a wooden ball under the table.